Sensational Soulstones
by Galevin
Summary: A young, foolish, arrogant horde-hating Worgen warlock stumbles upon an old, powerful Orcish Warlock with a troubled past. Although they immediately become enemies, when the Orc offers the Worgen an apprenticeship, they strike up an unlikely companionship as they struggle against demons of the past and the present...
1. Apprentice

Howdy everyone and welcome to the first chapter of...*drumroll*.. Sensational Soulstones... Don't be afraid to leave a review, I'd love any feedback, positive or especially constructive criticism.

Rexigon is my character, Zeregard is my friend's. :)

A lone orc walked through Val'sharah. He looked around at the shoddily crafted houses, barely clinging onto the dark, brown rocks of the cliffside. Harpy corpses were strewn about, their lifeless bodies sizzling still from the fel flame that had snatched their pitiful lives away within seconds, just a few minutes ago.

The sun had just begun to lower behind the towering green trees of Val'sharah, the rocks around the orc darkening every moment and minute with the upcoming nightfall ahead. His old and weary face was blanketed in shadow under the dark black hat that rested upon his head, with only his glowing red eyes of an orc exposed to the fel piercing that veil of black. The orc stood tall even in his age, and wore long crimson robes, covered in orcish and even demonic runes of power. Between his shoulder and gloves, his arms were exposed, showing powerful muscles, that while not as large and powerful as a younger orcish warrior, were still a force to be reckoned with.

The warlock sighed, trying to find what he was looking for among the wreckage. Stepping over the most recently slain harpy, its body hollow and weak as its life had been drained, he walked toward one of the harpy abodes. Its crafting slightly resembled Kaldorei culture, but the haphazardness of it and the smell, which was now pierced by the scent of burning feathers, gave away who had made it.

Walking into the small home, the wood creaked underneath the orc's boots, and a quiet tapping could be heard as his staff hit the floor when he walked. It was an intricately carved thing, covered in runes and shaped in a specific pattern. It was made of a cold, black silvery metal, and the headpiece of it was a dark crimson color.

The warlock grunted and raised his hand, a fel flame flickering just above it. There were no windows inside the room, and with the sun setting, not much light filtered in through the door. Green light danced across the walls, the flame in the orc's hand flickering and moving almost as if it had a life of its own. A small, chest crafted out of a dark wood sat in the corner. Approaching it, the warlock commanded the flame to hover in the air so that he could focus his attentions on opening the box. Attempting to simply open it, it did not budge. Muttering a spell under his breath, the lock clicked and the chest easily opened. Being an orc, it would've been easy to simply smash the box open, but this warlock would prefer not to resort to such savagery.

Inside, there was something wrapped in cloth that glowed a faint purple. Reaching a large, slightly clawed green hand into the box, the warlock unraveled the tattered beige cloth, revealing a finely cut gem that glowed a beautiful violet. The warlock was about to grin at having found what he needed, but he felt something tapping at the wards in the back of his mind. Cursing under his breath, he quickly wrapped the gem in the musty cloth again and dropped it into a pouch at his belt.

Moving so that there was no way to see him unless you walked into the house, the warlock casted a spell so that he would be able to look through the demonic eye he had placed so that he would not be caught by surprise. Living for a long time tended to give you a sense of caution. As he gazed through the fel green orb at the rocky surroundings he had passed through just a few minutes ago, he spotted someone crouching down, inspecting one of the harpy corpses that had been burnt in demonic flame.

Commanding the burning eye to move forward so that he could see this figure more closely, the orcish warlock cursed once again under his breath, realizing that he had seen this man before. It was a young worgen warlock, probably about twenty years old. His eyes glowed a burning fel green, and he was just beginning to grow a beard. One of his ears had been cut off, and his fur was a dark gray, almost black.

Crouched over the corpse, the worgen was dressed in his armor, which consisted of golden pauldrons with matching chains with inscribed fel runes and glowing flames, and a robe that mostly left his upper body exposed, showing his dark fur that grew lighter near the stomach, and strong muscles that had been developed through fighting rippled under his fur. For a regular man, he wasn't short, standing at almost six feet tall, but for Worgen, was below average.

Narrowing his eyes, realising that danger was probably near, he stood up and grabbed his staff that was resting upon the rough rocks that were beginning to grow dark as the sun's disappearance inched closer. The staff was a scythe, the smooth, silvery, pointed blade glinting. Scythes were popular among Gilnean culture, having been wielded by the mystical Harvest Witches partly responsible for being able to feed the cold, dreary city.

The young warlock walked along the path barefoot as many Worgen had become accustomed to, his dark paws stepped across the rocks and brushing aside any flora. As he approached closer and closer to the house, the orc realised that hiding forever wasn't going to be possible. He wasn't truly afraid of the warlock at all, having faced him before, but was only hoping to avoid the annoyance.

Cancelling the spell to look through his wards, the orc stood up and brushed his robes quickly. Stepping outside, the orc looked at the worgen with his own eyes, standing only about fifteen feet from each other. Talking calmly with a hint of contempt, the orc simply said, "You again?" He spoke in a rough common, his orcish accent laying over the words.

The worgen instantly got into a combat stance, his sharp and deadly claws pointing wickedly out. He snarled, some saliva flying out from his mouth which had many deadly sharp teeth pointing out. He would get out, "Of course it had to be you, you stupid Horde scum can't leave me alone, can you!?"

The old orc glared at the horde-hating warlock, tired of his young arrogance. "Worgen, step aside. These are matters that don't concern you, and we don't need to waste time for your foolishness."

"Never! Who knows what your filth was doing in there! You think I'm supposed to just let you go?"

The orc replied with a tint of amusement in his voice, "That's precisely what you're supposed to do. And -going- to do."

"Well I won't! If you green-skinned brute want to get past me, you're going to have to kill me first!" The worgen spoke with such anger, such contempt… the Orc wondered what caused someone to hate so much.

Sighing, the orc asks, "What causes you to hate my kind so much? As far as I knew, us orcs never fought your cowardly Gilneans."

"Cowardly? Do you think it was my decision to be born in the closed walls of Gilneas? You have probably never known what it's felt like to be trapped! And besides… Your scum allied with the Forsaken that brought down my homeland."

The words struck something within the orc's heart, and he replied, rage bubbling within him. "Idiot! My people were imprisoned for years by human scum, forced to wither away and work menial labor. As for allying with the Forsaken, do you think that is MY decision? Garrosh hunted warlocks in the Horde for years, even now that he's dead, if I spoke up I'd probably get myself killed."

"Garrosh has been dead for years now! If you really didn't want to ally with those abominations, you would've said something!"

"Pft, even now that Garrosh is dead, Sylvanas is Warchief of the Horde. Do you truly think it would be a good idea to speak against her people? Truly your foolishness knows no bounds."

"Shut up! I'm tired of you bitching about having no place in the Horde, because you don't deserve one!" With this, the Worgen raised his arms that were covered in shadow energy and cast it towards the orc, sending lobs of darkness that would cause endless torment should they make contact. Almost caught by surprise, the Orc dodged to the side, one of the shadow orbs just missing past him.

The Worgen cast another spell of darkness towards the Orc, a dark red coil of pain and suffering rushing towards him. Tiring of this foolish battle, the orc waved his hand, glowing slightly with fel energy, and silenced the Worgen, rendering him unable to cast his spells. With a demonic chant, fel flames burst into being around the Orc, and pulsed in waves. Going in long, slender strikes, the fel flames rushed forward, seeking to incinerate the Worgen.

Realising he was silenced, the Worgen decided to resort to feral strength. Dodging the fel flames, he weaved between the hungering fires and rushed towards the orc. Extending his claws, the Worgen leaped towards him, prepared to rip out the greenskin's throat. The orc saw this obvious attack however, and extending a large, muscled arm forward, easily caught the Worgen by his throat.

The Worgen choked, struggling to free himself from the orc's grasp. His fel green eyes were paniced, and his smaller claws were desperately clawing at the orc's large arm, leaving dark red scratches behind. The Worgen continued to struggle, before a feeling of acceptance came over him. Realising he was going to die then and there, his life flashed before his eyes, thinking of all the things he had never said or done. Seeing this moment of vulnerability in the Worgen, and it reminding him of something in his past, the Orc took pity.

"Foolish worgen, you leave yourself so open to attack. I'm tempted to end your pitiful life right now, but I'm feeling merciful today." With the release of the orc's powerful grip, the Worgen fell to his knees, crying. Something had snapped in him being so close to death, and he simply sniveled at the orc's feet, not quite understanding why he was still alive.

"You're so nice for a warlock… it disgusts me… I don't know why you spared me."

"Nice.. is not a word I would use to describe me. Rather, I'd just prefer not to have wasted talent and a mess to clean up." The Worgen looked up at the orc as he continued. "Now, stop crying, whelp. There may still be use for you yet." He considered his next words for a few moments, before continuing. "If you are willing to stoop so low as to ally with "Horde filth"… I am offering for you to be my apprentice." The Worgen looked shocked up at the Orc, wondering surely that this might be some sort of joke, barely beginning to mutter back a response before the Orc continued, "You may be a foolish and arrogant pup, but you have potential… and could be yet sharpened into an instrument of battle. Consider your next words wisely, Worgen, for they affect your future."

The Worgen took a minute to think, his head swimming in thoughts and emotions, wondering what would happen with whatever response he deemed worthy to reply. Brushing his dried tears off his fur, he'd reply, "F-fine.. I'll be you're apprentice." As much as he hated to admit it, he knew this Orc was a very powerful warlock and much stronger than he currently was, and would be in his best interests to ally with him.

"Good. If we're going to do this, we better become better acquainted, eh? What is your name, Worgen?"

He looked up at the orc, and began to stand up. His ears were still drooped low as he answered, "...Zeregard. Zeregard Roseberg..The one and only.." in a dreary voice.

The orc's red eyes sized him up, looking upon him now not as an enemy, but of an ally. "Very well, Zeregard. I am Rexigon Stormfang, son of Nalz'fir of the Shadowmoon Clan, Warlock of the Black Harvest. And that's Master Stormfang to you."

Zeregard's burning fel green eyes suddenly looked up at the orc, narrowing in anger. "Master!? I'm not going to call you master, you stupid old man!" Zeregard knew he was treading on thin ice, but couldn't help himself. How dare that annoying old orc tell him to call him "Master".

"It is a show of disicipline, something which you clearly lack, fool." The orc snarled out, beginning to grow weary of Zeregard's arrogance and clear lack of self-preservation instinct.

The young Worgen's ears were now raised high, his brokenness a few minutes ago all but forgotten as he engaged in another argument with the Orc. "Pft, I am full of discipline, you just haven't seen it yet."

Rexigon actually broke out into a laugh at this. Clearly this Worgen was crazy. "You!? Discipline!? Hahaha! In what way exactly are you disciplined, Worgen?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Zeregard's eyes narrow, wondering just what exactly Rexigon was hinting at.

"Only that you have only shown yourself to be an arrogant fool with absolutely no regard for your own safety or discipline."

"Whatever, but there's no way in hell I'm going to call you Master!"

Rexigon was truly getting tired of this now. His eyes burning a fel red a bit brighter than a moment before, he snarled out in a loud, rough orcish voice. "Enough! Fine, call me what you want, idiot! But when we are in the battlefield or a moment of peril, I expect you to obey my orders one hundred percent, for one mistake will cost BOTH our lives!"

Zeregard's ears and face lowered, struck down by the loud orcish voice. "I...I understand.."

Rexigon's tense features softened a bit. "Good. Then I expect to see you in the Dreadscar Rift in a month from now. I trust you can find your way there, yes?"

Zeregard just nodded and grunted his affirmation, watching as the orc, began walking closer. Clapping an orcish hand down on Zeregard's shoulder, he would finish the encounter by saying, "Good. You will make a strong warrior of the fel, in time. Farewell, Zeregard. Lok'tar, Ogar. " With this, Rexigon began walking across the dirt path, stepping over the now long dead corpses of burnt harpies, and musty gravel crunching under his boots. Before Zeregard could say anything in response, as Rexigon reached the end of the path, he dissapeared in a flash of fel green, teleporting to god knows where.

Taking a moment to think about what had just happened and why he had been spared by the Orc, Zeregard gathered up his things and began to walk away, forgetting why he had been there in the first place and just looking for a place to spend the now fully dark night.


	2. Thief Den

Zeregard walked on a grassy path through the darkness. The old, withering trees of Val'sharah towered above him, transformed from beautiful ancients in the day to creepy disfigured monsters by the help of the imagination at night. With the foul spread of the all consuming Emerald Nightmare, perhaps it wasn't fully imagination…

His furred paws created a soft squelching noise as it pressed through the lush verdant grass. Moonlight filtered in through the canopy of the looming forest, exposing some of the flora of Val'sharah under a soft silvery glow, making it no wonder the Kaldorei celebrated this place as a holy ground of Elune.

The moonlight's glow was pierced by the color of fel, Zeregard raising his staff with an illuminating fel flame that flickered across the trees and grass. The unnatural fire of fel glowed, twisting in such ways as to cause the shadows to almost shape into mishappen figures, ready to pounce on you and devour you…

Zeregard's ears were raised high, slightly flicking in response to the sounds of forest wildlife. With every hoot of a large, white colored crested owl that pierced through the night, with every branch cracked and dirt rustled of the moving of wildlife, or even echoes of something more sinister, Zere's ears flicked around, straining to hear more.

Off in the distance, he saw an edge where the trees stopped, and golden flickering lights shining on the in the clearing. Just faintly, he could hear voices in the distance, laughing and murmuring. Good, he was nearing closer to Bradensbook. After talking with that stupid orc, he needed somewhere to rest.

God knows why he had accepted to be his apprentice… Surely his judgment had been clouded in the moment. He didn't need some filthy old greenskin to teach him how to be a proper warlock, Zeregard thought. He was already a powerful warlock, a master of the dark arts. He would bend his enemies to his will, and none would stop him, and he didnt need some arrogant horde scum to teach him how!

Zeregard's arrogant musings were interrupted by the cold chill of eyes on his back. He knew he was being watched. Stopping abruptly, he slowly turned to the sides, trying to catch a glimpse of his stalker. His flickering fel fire felt smaller for some reason, and the moonlight seemed to have dimmed. The light of the town seemed far, far away, the land between him and Bradensbrook seeming to stretch vastly, feeling unbelievably distant. He continued searching between the trees, a cold panic slightly settling on him.

And that's when he saw it. Two, cold, dark red eyes gazing upon him. The rest of whatever was staring at him was shadowed beneath the gloom of night, the only thing visible being those two, malevolent orbs. In a panic, Zeregard simply fired off a quick spell, a bolt of fel flame being flung out towards the darkness.

Just as quickly as the eyes had come, they disappeared. As the firebolt illuminated the area where the creature had been, it was revealed to have nothing there. Things starts to return back to normal, and he could feel the cold night breeze blowing through his warm, sweat soaked fur. He could hear the crickets chirping softly, and the owls hooting. The warm glow of the town returned, and was not too far away. Zeregard felt slightly out of breath, but wasted no time getting out as fast as possible.

Zeregard's furred feet made a rapid patting sound as they rushed over the path. Black, withered trees rushed past him in a blur as he hurried as quickly as possible out of the forest. Small animals of the forest made surprised cooing sounds and scurried out of his way, not wishing to be trampled by a terrified Worgen. Finally, he broke out of the trees.

Slowing down a bit, Zere panted, out of breath after his sprint. Bradensbrook was closer now, the golden light of the inside of bustling taverns vividly shining out, and he could clearly hear the sounds of shouting and laughing adventurers. The towering black trees of Val'sharah slowly creeped back into the distance as Zeregard walked up to the Gilnean village, a lone sanctuary beneath the massive Kaldorei military structure known as Black Rook Hold.

Walking into town, Zere brushed past armored Humans in gleaming armor with majestic swords and shields, and tiny Gnomish mages dressed in finely weaved robes, and Dwarven shamans and a whole assortment of other adventurers.

Reaching the door of the inn, a large engraved entrance carved out of gnarled black wood, and with a diamond shaped window through which a warm, cozy light streamed outside into the cold breezy air, Zeregard opened it with a firm grasp on the iron knob. Inside even more adventurers laughed and cheered, with busy Gilnean waitresses bustling about, and a roaring flame in the hearth.

Walking up to the bartender and absentmindedly ordering something to get relaxed after the stressful ordeals of the day, Zeregard took a seat at a wooden stool. A waitress wearing a simple white dress returned, leaving a frothing mug of ale down at the bar where Zeregard sat.

Taking a few sips, he glanced around at the various people in the bar. To his left, a tall night elf with a violet skin dressed in a dark leather tunic and several pouches conversed with a human warrior, wearing light mail armor. A green-skinned orcish pirate, one of his eyes covered by a dark brown leather eyepatch conversed with a hooded forsaken female, rolling dice and the old, withered knuckle bones of some surely monstrous foe that had been defeated long ago. Even a curvy succubus danced seductively in front of an older Worgen warlock, throwing enthralling glances towards the denizens of the inn.

Drinking more and more as Zeregard had a tendency to, he eventually found someone to converse with. Talking more and more, with less and less of a brain to guide him, Zeregard found himself discussing a murloc and a panther in Stranglethorn Vale for some reason. Eventually stumbling into a room after paying the innkeeper a few golden coins that glinted under a warm, orange light, Zeregard fell into his bed, covering himself in blankets and letting the sweet embrace of sleep take him.

Zeregard groaned, feeling his consciousness slowly return back to him. Sunlight was warm upon his closed eyelids as he slowly moved his body around, getting used to be awake again. He groaned once again at how sore he was… No wonder, seeing as he had managed to fall asleep without even taking his armor off.

Slowly sitting up and opening his eyes, Zere's head spun. Gods, he should not have drank that much. But he could never help himself in the moment. He tried to remember what he was supposed to do today, before damning it all and telling himself to do it later, as he couldn't think at all at the moment. Reaching a hand into his pouches, he wondered. Where the hell was that potion Gale made for him?

Ah, there it was. Zeregard pulled out a thick looking, light blue potion. Taking the stopper off, he quickly swallowed the rather unpleasant tasting liquid, hoping to just get it over with. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was worth it. The potion didn't usually take effect immediately, but after a half and hour it should help...at least a little.

After getting up to go to the bathroom and straightening himself up a bit, he returned to his room. Now he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He needed to get to the Dreadscar Rift in a month… the current headquarters of the Black Harvest, if he remembered correctly. But he didn't know how to get there, and he wasn't going to be let in if they didn't trust him to some extent. Damn it, why hadn't he asked the orc how to get there. No...he shouldn't have shown any weakness in front of that scum.

Sighing, he decided he would start looking in Dalaran. The floating mage city was currently of warriors and heroes who had decided to aid against the Burning Legion on the Broken Isles… surely someone there could help him. Picking up his things, Zeregard exited his room, walking down a long hall into the now mostly empty Inn. A few orcs were slumped over their tables, clearly too drunk to have gone to their rooms. The previously roaring hearth was now reduced to a few smoldering flickers upon molten coals and ash.

Opening the large door, Zeregard stepped outside into the brisk, cold air. The forest no longer looked so deadly and imposing, now filled with the life of the sunlight. With the cold stones of the Black Rook Hold towering above him, Zeregard began stepping along the cool, moist road towards the Flight Master. He didn't want to waste any time before figuring out how he would get to the Dreadscar Rift.

The large, ebon Gryphon finally landed upon the cool stones of Dalaran, sending a few Elves rustling away in an attempt to avoid the huge gusts of wind caused by the Gryphon's immense wings. Zeregard quickly dismounted, happy to get his feet back on the ground after the long flight. After patting the Gryphon on the head a couple times and scratching it behind the ears good naturedly, Zeregard walked over to the flight master and gave him a few coins for payment.

Walking into the main square of Dalaran, Zeregard looked around. Citizens of Dalaran bustled around him. Flashily clothed royal mages pranced around, and silver warriors armed with gleaming broadswords rushed past him to their next destination. Merchants shouted out their wares, and civilians stepped past large wooden doors into shops full of gleaming trinkets and strange items…

No, he wasn't going to find any signs of the Black Harvest in this shining mage city's streets. He was going to have to head into the black markets of this place. The unmentioned place everyone knew was there, but no one discussed. Full of scheming thieves and shady figures; The Underbelly.

Heading towards the entrance of the sewer gates, the Dalaran guards turned their heads away from the Worgen, used to people like him entering the Underbelly. Seems like the mage city's defenses were easily corrupt…

The iron grate that covered the other entrances was missing, obviously taken away a long time ago. The cobbled stone underneath was worn down, showing the roughness of the inner rock, evidence that many travelers had come through here. Iron brackets held torches upon the walls, the warm flames illuminating the chiseled stone bricks and the moss that grew between the cracks.

Heading deeper into the underground of Dalaran, less and less sunlight was visible, the cold corridors now only brightened by fire. The sounds of citizens and warriors walking and talking and shouting were now only replaced by the sound of rushing sewer water. The only other soul Zeregard saw in these dark tunnels was the occasional hooded stranger, rushing past and avoiding eye contact.

After walking for a few more minutes through the cool stone tunnel, Zeregard began to hear more sounds. The hushed whispers of illegal merchants and mysterious figures… gold coins from foreign lands rustled through pouches and pockets. Flickering lights became more and more visible, until the claustrophobic tunnel opened up into a large cavern. Ah… so this was the Underbelly.

Hooded rogues and foreign merchants bustled around through the rickety wooden shacks and cloth constructed in the deep heart of Dalaran. Tough brutes stood around the corner, looking down at those foolish enough to approach them. A few more sinisterly inclined mages with black and red hooded robes walked quietly through, attempting to find whatever dark ingredient they were searching for.

Zeregard was about to approach someone for help before someone grabbed his arm and pulled him hard through the crowd towards an alleyway. Zere struggled to be released but couldn't, and turned around only to see a… human girl. She was dressed in purple and red robes, and looked rather royal. Sighing boredly, she spoke, "Rex told me you would be coming. Gosh, he really does have bad taste in apprentices. Oh well, can't talk that old warlock out of anything. Come this way."

Zere narrowed his eyes as she talked about him being a bad apprentice, but followed her as she seemed to know what she was doing. Her footsteps created a soft pitter-patter on the cold stone as the sounds of the bustling black market faded behind them. Instead, the sound of an eerie buzz began to fill the air, and around the corner, a green glow was splashed upon the walls.

Finally turning into the next room, Zeregard gasped quietly to himself. There in the center was a huge Demonic Gateway, a portal to another dimension, in this case being the Dreadscar Rift. Two huge, armed felguards stood by the either side of the portal, wielding giant axes ready to slice even the thickest and strongest armor cleanly in half.

"Your weapon, please. Not that I think you could pose any threat to us, because you couldn't… buuut safety precautions must be enacted." The human warlock drolly stated, clearly wanting to get this interaction over with. Zere snarled, ready to yell back about how there was no way he was going to let go of his weapon, but knew he was far too deep now, and they could easily kill him if he refused.

Handing over his scythe hesitantly, the human took it calmly, and headed towards the portal. "You may step in first." Taking a few steps, Zeregard slowly walked towards the buzzing green portal. Finally walking through it, Zere felt a small jump in reality, as if his very spirit was seperated from his body, before landing. Landing upon some black gravel, Zere fell to his knees and felt slightly dizzy. Slowly standing up, Zeregard took note of his surroundings. Green towering legion buildings dotted the landscape of this floating space rock. Green fel meteors fell through the sky, and the constant humming of large amounts of fel energy was pervasive through the whole area.

Standing in front of him, the human female beckoned him forward, Zere's green fel-scythe hovering in the air next to her. "Rexigon awaits you farther up."

Sorry for the late chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. I know it's not the most satisfying ending, but I gotta keep you hooked somehow, eh? Until next time. :P


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